38 Special
by Wulf
Summary: Sequel to Violin. The blues at 2 AM. Wolf ponders his past. Slashiness.


Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

AN/Warnings: Coarse language, yaoi-ishness. Limey.

Genre(s): Angst, drama, slight romance, yiff.

Setting: One year after the war with Andross

Additional An: To tell you the truth, Leon x Wolf is my favorite yaoi couple from Star Fox. (Scary, isn't it?)

To all those who read Violin, thank you! (P.S. Still Life- I like boots and Italian food. ^_~) 

  
  


. 38 Special

"Even God cannot change the past."

--Agathon (c. 446-401 BC) Athenian poet and playwright. Nicomachean Ethics (Aristotle), VI

  
  


There were times he could look back on, times he could smile. There were other times, of course, that made him shudder and wince. He certainly wasn't a saint, and he never claimed to be.

Wolf sighed, rolling over once more, pulling the blankets tighter. Instinctively, he glanced to his left, looking for Leon, needing some kind of reassurance, distraught to find that he wasn't there. He readjusted his eye patch, a nervous habit of his, staring through the semi-darkness of the room at the ceiling, counting the water spots. He waited a few moments more, wondering if perhaps Leon had left for the privy, or maybe had gotten a midnight snack....

He sat up, looking at the clock, red digital numbers cutting through the darkness, reading 2:18. Wolf sighed, running a paw through the shaggy fur atop his head, feeling exposed. He always felt vulnerable after one of his nightmares, he hated that feeling, and he'd been having too many lately....

Not wanting to wait any longer, Wolf threw the covers off his body, shivering slightly as the cool ir rushed over his body, groping in the dark for a shirt. He pulled it over his head, wrapping his arms around himself as he stalked into the hallway blinking in the rich mellow light until his eyes became accustomed.

The sweet melody of a piano greeted him, a sad, gothic tune; one of Leon's favorites. Wolf smiled slightly, listening, knowing that Leon always played whenever he needed to think or was deeply stressed. He followed the music, stepping into the parlor, Leon hunched over the baby grand, the only light in the room spilling in from the corridor. Wolf's shadow fell across Leon's back as he stood in the doorway.

"What're you playin'?" Wolf asked, groggily, voice hoarse and ears drooping slightly. He moved away from the doorframe, slinking in, graceful even in his weary state. Leon made no reply, continuing to play the last notes of the song, long, elegant fingers skipping nimbly among the keys. He finished, the melody hanging in the air a moment before evaporating, and turned finally to see Wolf, who had moved to lean against the piano.

He yawned, small canines flashing in the light of the hall way. Wolf blinked, looking down at Leon, lips curving upwards slightly in a sleepy haze. Leon reached up, wrapping his arms around Wolf's waist, laying his head against his hard chest, heartbeat thudding in his ears. Wolf placed his paws on Leon's head, stroking his scales.

"I woke up and you weren't there," Wolf finally whispered, laying his muzzle on Leon's head.

"I couldn't sleep," Leon replied, inhaling Wolf's scent. It never ceased to amaze Wolf, the gentleness that Leon could harbor. The Lylat War had made him famous, of course, his name was whispered in hush throughout the entire system, the most feared man in all of Lylatian history. Wolf shuddered slightly; he'd seen Leon's handiwork, the antipode of what he was now.

There was a dark side to Leon, tortured, grotesque. An apathetic demon that could torment others without the slightest hint of feeling or remorse. Deep down, it scared Wolf, the frenzy Leon could work himself into when provoked or highly emotional. His apathetic side had been born of his passionate side; when it got to be too much he'd switch off, a cool callousness settling over him as he began his work. He didn't like it, Wolf was sure of that much. He'd come upon Leon plenty of times during the war, covered in blood that was not his, a disfigured body strung up on the wall, Leon kneeling in a pool of sticky body fluids, sobs ripping through him. He'd trashed his lab in a rage on more than one occasion, when Andross overworked him. Leon was highly emotional, and could fly into a rage at the slightest provocation, Andross had used that against him, and for that reason Wolf was glad the bastard was dead.

He'd taken the job when he had been very young, when he had been a homeless musician, living in the streets of Corneria, playing the violin for a few bucks. He'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time, on Katina, looking for someone close to him when one of Andross's patrols had caught him. He fought back, but he'd been little more than a boy then, skinny and weak with hunger, and he'd remembered calling for Miyu when pain over took him.

Leon, sensing that Wolf was very far away from him, looked up, Wolf's sole brown eyes looking beyond the small room they were in. He furrowed his brow, caressing Wolf's cheek, running one clawed finger over Wolf's eyepatch, careful not to scratch the leather, as Wolf had just polished it the day before. "I'm sorry," Leon whispered unconsciously, and Wolf blinked, dragged back to the present. He smiled slightly, settling his paw over Leon's, smiling painfully.

"I know."

It had been Leon in the end, who had saved him, who had nearly killed him. He'd been nothing more than a grunt then, his fantastic flying skills and murderous fits of rage yet undiscovered by Andross. He'd been a part of the shock troop force that had attacked Katina's Frontline Base, which had been mostly an academy before the war had truly started. Wolf had been dragged along with them; they'd been enlisting new recruits, and Wolf suited the job perfectly, young, intelligent, with no family ties, no one to miss him. Leon had guarded him, sneaking him bits of food and water, speaking to him after the others had slept. Wolf had never been so scared in his life, and had thought often of Miyu.

When it came time to attack the Base, Wolf had been forced to go along, by Leon, who had left scars on Wolf's face when he did not obey. He'd seen Miyu there, through one good eye and another of fuzzy shadow. He'd lost sight soon after, the last thing he'd seen had been Miyu, openly weeping over the body of a comrade. When it was over, Wolf had wandered off to be alone, sobbing bitterly by himself until a pair of strong arms wrapped around him, a face buried in his fur. It had been different with Leon after that, and Wolf knew he could not return.

His first time had come that night, in the mud with Leon. It had been dirty and short and Wolf had not regretted a moment. He knew he was one of them after that, but he'd wanted very badly to say good bye to Miyu, and with Leon's consent he'd returned to Corneria for one last day.

It was tragic and over much too quickly, and the rain had washed the tears from his face. He hadn't meant for it to happen, but he and Miyu had made love underneath churning skies, and Wolf allowed Miyu to believe that it was his first. He watched quietly as Miyu slept, looking young and kittenish as he dreamt, Wolf briefly wondering what a life with him could've been like. He brushed muddy bangs off his forehead, smoothing his ears, suddenly wishing to cry. He knew he couldn't, he'd wake Miyu and that would endanger him, because he did not trust his voice. He'd dared to press his lips one last time against Miyu's cheek and quickly left before he lost his nerve.

Miyu had been his first love, but Wolf had been content to leave with Leon. He'd given up the violin for some time after that, refusing to play, convincing himself that that had been another life, far away. He'd left his fiddle with Miyu, wanting him to remember that one painful summer. Leon had bought him a new one for his eighteenth birthday, and at his insistence, he'd finally began to play again, but often refused to play anything other than his mother's song.

He thought often of her, although he wished not to. She had been the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and he'd worshiped her fiercely. She'd been vivacious and playful, and he'd often brushed out her hair for her as she sang, flowing waves of red-gold that he liked to bury his face in. Sometimes she pinned the curly mass up, a thick bun at the base of her neck; it always annoyed him, he'd pout and frown and she would laugh, kiss his cheek and shake it out for him.

She'd taught him the violin herself, and he learned to play the lullaby she often hummed to him. Now he hummed to himself, whenever he was lonely and there was no Leon to ease his pain.

He'd watched her die on his eleventh birthday, her soft brown eyes forever staring into nothing when her head hit the dirt. It had been an accident; she'd worked in the mines on Macbeth and there had been a riot, it had turned quite violent and Cornerian special forces had been dispatched to gain control of the situation....

"Wolf?"

Wolf jumped, realizing that Leon was staring intently at him, serpentine eyes gleaming in the shadow. Leon settled his paws at Wolf's waist, pulling him down into his lap, and Wolf wrapped his arms around Leon's neck. They sat in silence for a moment, Leon no doubt reflecting on his own past; neither of them could really escape the events leading up to what they had become, dwelling on unhappy topics.

Wolf ran his paws over Leon's back, nuzzling his neck, not wanting to remember.

"You're being very affectionate tonight," Leon commented lightly, claws slipping down to work the muscle of Wolf's thigh. He grunted, pressing closer to Leon, taking refuge in his warmth. He dipped his head down, seeking Leon's lips, nipping lightly, playfully. Leon returned the kiss and Wolf clutched more tightly at Leon's shirt.

"I had another nightmare," Wolf confessed breathlessly when they parted, arching his back at Leon's touch.

"What about?" Leon asked, fingertips running over Wolf's chest, feeling him jump with the sensation. A muffled groan escaped Wolf lips, and he buried his face against Leon's neck again, unwilling to relive the hell that had plagued him during the night. He tensed against Leon, who slipped his claws around to Wolf's back, rubbing it in soothing circles. Wolf clutched at Leon, and the darkness seemed less oppressive.

Wolf closed his eyes, leaning his head on Leon's shoulder, reveling in the tenderness that was his Leon, not the vicious monster he sometimes was. It was only with Wolf that Leon was gentle, his haughty sense of pride obscuring all else from others. He was a mystery even to Wolf, but one that he could live with, as long as Leon would stay. He hummed the soft, lilting lullaby to himself, and Leon drew Wolf closer, realizing what he must've dreamt about.

Wolf had seen his mother's murderer, had seen him and looked in his eyes and watched him blink. He knew. He knew as soon as the shot had been fired that Wolf had been hers, it had been a mistake, but he had looked away in shame and sorrow. Wolf had screamed, whimpering, clutching the cooling body, chubby paws grabbing handfuls of shimmering curls, crying, and there had been chaos all around him. He had screamed and cried hysterically when someone lifted him away from his mother, her body trampled underfoot as the mining crew ran from the Cornerian troops, trying to escape the onslaught. He'd cried himself to sleep and had woken up alone.

He made his way to Corneria, were the bastard took up residence, watched him carefully and waited for his moment. It never came, but his mother had been avenged, Wolf had eventually graduated at the top of his class at the Venom Flight Institute, forming his own mercenary squadron which he had signed to Andross's army. The McClouds were rotten, all of them, he'd laughed when the bitch had been splattered across the sidewalk, and Pigma had delivered the news to Wolf himself, that the father had been killed.

But there was the son, Fox, who had continued to receive top marks at the prestigious Cornerian Flight Academy, who had been praised and honored and damn near worshiped. Wolf had flown into a rage when he'd been defeated on Fortuna, his first battle with Star Fox in the war, and he'd trashed his room, paws gashed and bleeding with the force in which he'd broken through a mirror on the far wall, fingers slick with red grasping at the razor sharp fragments with only one intent. He'd gotten halfway before Leon had burst in, slapping him sharply across the face and embracing him tightly. It had been the only time Wolf had seen fear in his eyes.

His hatred of Fox only festered, knowing that his mother would never be truly avenged until every last McCloud was eradicated, erased from the memory of the universe. He had loved her very much, her beauty and grace had been spellbinding, her spirit kind and pure.

But she had not even received a proper burial, and had soon been forgotten by all but Wolf.

He stopped humming quite suddenly, eye stinging as the memories rushed over him, a hissing whimper escaping his lips and he looked to Leon for support. Leon understood, Wolf forgetting the pain as physical pleasure ran shuddered through his body, Leon's claws at his thighs again. Rapture clouded his brain, and he did not have to think.

The silence was broken by the piano's discord, as Wolf leant back on it, palms pressing into the keys, back arched, head thrown back. The initial din quieted after a moment, the only sounds reaching Wolf's ears were that of he and Leon, and the occasional racket from the piano as Wolf shuddered against it. His body jerked and Leon's claws eventually halted, and Wolf folded himself against him, strong reptilian arms wrapping around him.

Leon broke the quiet after a moment, speaking into Wolf's fur. "You know what Andrew is going to do, don't you?"

Wolf nodded, knowing what Leon was going to ask next and wishing that he wouldn't.

"You need to make the decision, Wolf. What are you going to do?"

Wolf closed his eye, knowing there was but one path for him, that his choice had been made for him very long ago. He let his muzzle linger at Leon's chest for a moment longer, finally pulling away, peering into in eyes, slanted pupils staring back. Leon brushed the hair out of Wolf's face and awaited his answer.

"When his war starts, I'm going to fight again," Wolf stated, voice even, his resolve hardened. He'd win this time. His mother would finally be avenged. Whatever purposes Andrew had for starting the war, Wolf had no care for. He had his own personal reasons for fighting in it. Andrew would just be the convenient means through which he could collect his revenge.

"So be it," Leon whispered, Wolf knowing that he would follow. He kissed Leon's cheek, sliding off his lap to sit next to him, both silent for a brief, reflective moment.

Wolf slumped sleepily against Leon, intertwining their fingers as he began to play again. 


End file.
